Cider Brook Read online

  Julius didn’t hesitate. “To redeem herself.”

  * * *

  Julius left after they got back from dinner. He headed back up to his house in Beverly Hills or Hollywood Hills or wherever it was. Loretta hadn’t been there yet. It was his world. His daughters were there. His ex-wife. His clients and the law firm he worked for. She envisioned him with a Sam Spade sort of office but supposed that was nonsense.

  She hated to see him go but at the same time was relieved.

  She’d never married—she’d never wanted to marry—and she’d had damn few long-term relationships in her life. It hadn’t been a plan, it had just worked out that way. She wasn’t promiscuous. She’d had long dry spells between men.

  “Like a decade,” she muttered as she went out to her pool. It was heated. She hated cold water.

  She kicked off her sandals and dipped a toe into the water. She’d gone skinny-dipping with Duncan their one night together. Talk about madness. She in her fifties, he in his early seventies. They’d had a blast, laughing, enjoying life. She didn’t know why she’d fallen for him, but she had no regrets, not about that. She’d been his last love. They hadn’t fought, or really had a chance to get to know each other.

  She hadn’t told his son because—well, because her relationship with his father was none of Dylan’s business. That was just a fact. It wasn’t good or bad. What she and Duncan had shared was about them. It wasn’t about Dylan.

  With no indication that Duncan was in anything but excellent health, it had been a terrible shock when she’d gotten word of his death.

  What a two years it had been since that dark day.

  Loretta didn’t dare trust what she had with Julius. It wasn’t just lust, and that scared the hell out of her. Did she want to get serious with a man at this point in her life?

  What if Julius freaking dropped dead, too?

  She blinked back tears. How had her tidy life become so complicated?

  “Damned if I know what I want.”

  She splashed the water with her foot and almost fell into the stupid pool. Wouldn’t that serve her right? An independent, successful professional falling ass-over-teakettle into the pool over a man.

  She was more raw than she’d realized after Duncan’s death and now Dylan’s engagement to a woman in this little New England town. She hated not knowing what to do about Julius. About her feelings for him. That wasn’t like her. She always knew what to do.

  Duncan had known he had no choice, but he’d still disliked firing Samantha Bennett, then wondered if he’d done the right thing. “In my work, Loretta, I can’t take chances on someone who deliberately lied to me—whatever her reasons. But I’m not a heartless SOB, either.”

  “She’ll be fine, but it’ll help that she only worked for you a short time,” Loretta had told him. She remembered how much she’d enjoyed their long calls and occasional video chats. They’d shared an intense intimacy that she’d never expected would last—but she hadn’t expected he’d die, either. “Did you ask her why she looked you up in Knights Bridge?”

  “Not specifically, no. Maybe she would tell me, but it doesn’t matter. She needs to get on with her life, and I have work to do.”

  Loretta sank onto a lounge chair, letting her feet dry in the fading sun. She had a damn good life here. She couldn’t relate to Dylan’s life in Knights Bridge. Maybe if she had some reason to be there—like he did.

  She’d felt all crazily warm and fuzzy and maternal when he’d called to ask her what she knew about Samantha Bennett.

  She groaned. “I’ve gone off the edge.”

  Her phone vibrated on the table next to her lounge chair. She grabbed it and saw Julius had texted her. You’re angsting, aren’t you?

  The man did have a sixth sense about people. She typed her answer. Obsessing. There’s a difference. Where are you?

  Almost home. Stopped for gas.

  She debated asking him to turn around and come back to La Jolla, but there was nothing to keep her at home except work that could wait. He’d been asking her to come up there. If he understood she wasn’t ready to meet his family...

  She texted him back. Do you have wine?

  I collect wine. Noah would approve.

  Noah Kendrick, Dylan’s best friend and the billionaire founder of NAK, Inc., owned a winery on the central coast of California. He was there now with Phoebe O’Dunn, the Knights Bridge librarian. They would be returning to Massachusetts soon.

  Loretta felt abandoned, alone—she didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her.

  She responded to Julius. I’m on my way.

  His answer came within seconds. I’ll be waiting with the Chardonnay.

  Eight

  Samantha awoke to sun streaming through her windows. She hadn’t pulled the curtains, but she’d overslept, anyway. She bolted upright, knowing it was after eight before she checked the time on the bedside clock.

  Eight thirty-four.

  She had planned to be on her way by now. On her way where she didn’t exactly know, but out of The Farm at Carriage Hill, away from the herbs and the big slobbery dog and the happy engaged couple.

  Late last night, exhausted but unable to sleep, she’d decided she would get an early start. She didn’t need to meet Dylan over coffee and eggs. She could stick to her plan and accomplish what she’d come to Knights Bridge to do without a face-to-face with her ex-boss’s son.

  With a groan, she sank against the padded headboard. She’d ended up deep under the comforter, finally and totally dead to the world after days of digging through her grandfather’s office and then her uncle and cousin’s arrival in Boston and then yesterday. The drive west, her hike, the thunderstorm, the fire, the rescue, the irritable volunteer firefighter. Then the gracious hostess, the warm applesauce, the soup, the cake. The big dog. The goat’s milk soap.

  No wonder she’d had a hard time winding down and hadn’t fallen asleep until well after midnight. Hearing what she took to be Dylan McCaffrey’s voice out in the hall hadn’t helped.

  Justin Sloan had to have known she would be more like a house guest at The Farm at Carriage Hill than an inn guest. She supposed he and Olivia both had tried to warn her, and she’d just been too shaken and rattled for it to sink in that her hosts lived here.

  She stood up, the braided rug warm under her bare feet. Without warning, her mind flashed to the hiss and near-roar of the fire in the dark, claustrophobic cider mill.

  She could feel Justin lifting her as she’d gasped for air. She could smell his shirt, his skin....

  “Gad,” she said under her breath.

  She’d dreamed about him, and now that she was awake she was going to keep thinking about him?

  She shook her head. “I need coffee.”

  Despite traipsing through the woods, her tense escape from the fire and her dreams, the stiffness and achiness she’d felt last night had eased and she wasn’t particularly sore this morning. She ducked into the pretty bathroom, her reflection in the mirror not as deadly as yesterday when she’d arrived.

  She took another shower, getting any residual smoke smell off her, and quickly got dressed. She unloaded her backpack on the floor and went through every item for smoke damage. She would figure out what she needed to replace and stop at the country store in town. She wanted to go back to the cider mill this morning. It and the village were both within relatively easy walking distance of Carriage Hill.

  She stared at the contents of her backpack on the floor with a feeling of dread.

  She got down on her knees and went through every item again.

  No journal.

  She hadn’t thought about it until now. It was always with her. It must have been displaced in the mad dash from the fire.

  She stood straight, her heartbeat quickening as she considered the possibilities. Had it burned up in the fire? Had it fallen out of her pack after Justin had rescued her?

  Had one of the other firefighters found it? His cop brother?

 
; Was it still in the mill? Would someone stop there this morning and find it?

  She had no memory of the small cloth-bound journal beyond slipping it into her backpack yesterday morning before she left Boston. She was positive she’d had it with her when she’d shoved her pack into the backseat with Isaac.

  Maybe she’d dropped it in her grandfather’s Mercedes.

  She texted her uncle and asked.

  He responded immediately. No journal.

  Check under the seats. Please.

  She paced, waiting for his next text. Not in the car. Burned?

  I don’t know.

  Uh-oh.

  Yeah, no kidding. How’s Amherst?

  The ghost of Harry Bennett haunts the ivy-covered buildings.

  Only her uncle would take the time to type such a text. Samantha typed a quick response. No doubt. Good luck.

  You, too, Sam.

  Marginally calmer, she headed downstairs, arriving to an empty kitchen. A cool draft drew her into the mudroom and out to the stone terrace, where Olivia sat at a round wood table having coffee and toast. She smiled cheerfully. “Well, good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Great, thanks.” Samantha pushed aside her panic over her missing journal and pulled out a chair in the sun, taking a seat. “It’s a lovely day.”

  “It is, isn’t it? I’m not letting a single reasonably warm, sunny morning go to waste. It’ll be snowing before we know it. Dylan played ice hockey for years, but he’s never done a real New England winter. Should be interesting.” Olivia rose, grabbing her breakfast plate but leaving her coffee mug. She wore jeans and an oversize, paint-spattered white shirt, her dark hair pulled back loosely, her casual attire a reminder that Carriage Hill was also her home. “We’re having our wedding here on Christmas Eve.”

  “Do you hope it snows?”

  “I hope there’s snow on the ground. I wouldn’t want a blizzard to keep people from traveling. What can I get you for breakfast? We have almost anything you can think of, including wild blueberries for pancakes.”

  “I’d be happy to make my own breakfast—”

  Olivia held up a hand, silencing her. “I wouldn’t dream of it. We’re still getting up to speed, but the larder is full, so to speak. So, what do you think? Cereal, muffins, toast, yogurt, fresh fruit, eggs—”

  “Yogurt with fruit and toast would be fabulous. Thank you.”

  “Done. I’ll bring it out to you.” Olivia grinned, heading to the mudroom door. “This is so much fun.”

  When Olivia disappeared into the kitchen, Samantha breathed in the crisp air, hoping it would help settle her down. She wanted to enjoy her surroundings. If her journal was in the cider mill, she would find it before anyone else did. If it had burned up...well, then, it had burned up. If Justin or any of the other firefighters had found it, surely they would return it unread. They were professionals.

  Who was she kidding? They would read at least enough to realize she was in their little town because of a long-dead pirate.

  Buster rolled onto his back in front of a bench at the edge of the terrace. The yard was a mix of lawn and raised beds of herbs and flowers, with mulched paths that led to a garden shed and a stone wall and shade trees along the edge of a rolling field. A small hill rose across the field. Carriage Hill, presumably.

  Samantha imagined a Christmas Eve wedding with freshly fallen snow, lights, a soft winter-blue sky. It would be beautiful. Then again, this place would be beautiful anytime of year—including now, with the autumn-tinged leaves, colorful mums and New England asters. She thought she could smell mint on the light breeze.

  “My friend Maggie will be here soon,” Olivia said as she returned to the terrace with a breakfast tray. “We’re getting ready for my sister’s wedding here this weekend.”

  Samantha sat up straight. “This weekend? Today is Thursday. You look so calm.”

  “It’s not a huge wedding, and Maggie’s doing most of the heavy lifting, since the bride is my sister and I’ll be participating in the ceremony. Maggie’s unflappable. I’m more like the old saying about the duck—calm on the surface, paddling like crazy underneath.” Olivia laughed as she set the tray on the table. “But I’m calmer than I used to be, and it’ll all work out. Jess—that’s my sister—and Mark, her fiancé, are both from town, and the weather looks good for Saturday.”

  “A New England fall wedding. It’ll be wonderful.”

  Olivia unloaded a plate of whole-grain toast and small bowls of plain yogurt, fresh-cut fruit—apples, plums, peaches—and butter and jams. A coffee press, mug and cream pitcher came next, then the silverware and napkin.

  “This is perfect,” Samantha said with a smile. “Thank you so much.”

  “If you think of anything else you need, just let me know.”

  “You’ll join me for coffee?”

  “Happily.” Olivia sank into a chair, looking relaxed. “Maggie and I have a full day ahead of us.”

  “I imagine so.” Samantha poured coffee, breathing in its strong smell. “Is your sister nervous about the wedding?”

  “She says she’s too busy to worry. She works at my family’s mill in town. Mark is a local architect. Mark Flanagan. He did the plans for the house and barn Dylan’s building up the road.” She paused, then added with a smile, “The house and barn Dylan and I are building. Sometimes I still have to remind myself.”

  “You two will live there when the house is finished?”

  “Yes. We have so many plans.” Olivia took a quick breath, as if to keep a rush of anxiety at bay. “It’s been quite a year. A good one, but it’s come with a lot of changes.”

  Buster stirred, and Samantha heard men’s voices in the kitchen. She resisted the temptation to jump up and run and instead buttered toast and spooned out yogurt and fruit. Then the back door opened, and Justin Sloan and another man walked out onto the terrace. Olivia got up and introduced Dylan, her fiancé. Not that it was necessary, given his resemblance to his father.

  “Good to meet you, Samantha,” he said. “Sorry your first day in Knights Bridge wasn’t the best.”

  She chose her words carefully. “It’s a beautiful day today. I can’t thank you and Olivia enough.”

  “Not a problem. Glad to have you.”

  Justin pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “You don’t look any worse for wear this morning.” There was just the slightest edge of suspicion in his voice. “What are your plans for the day?”

  Samantha ate some of her fruit and yogurt and got her bearings before she responded. “I thought I’d resume my hike. I’m not positive yet.”

  Buster rubbed against Dylan’s knee. He patted the big dog. “Take your time. There’s no rush on our account.”

  “You’ve got a wedding to put on.”

  “It’s under control,” Olivia said. “You’re welcome to stay.”

  Samantha thanked them as she got to her feet, feeling like a total liar. When he’d fired her, Duncan hadn’t been mad so much as disappointed—harder to take in many ways than outright anger. “I can’t have you work for me, Samantha, but I wish you the best as you get on with your life.”

  Dylan slipped an arm around his fiancée. It was easy to see why he’d fallen for Olivia. She was kind, generous and creative. She’d obviously had her struggles. Without knowing any details, Samantha sensed that Olivia’s return to her hometown had come with obstacles and a story, if one with a happy ending—The Farm at Carriage Hill and a Christmas wedding to Dylan McCaffrey.

  Samantha stared down at her breakfast on the table. Her throat tightened with emotion. She didn’t belong at Carriage Hill, inserting herself into these people’s lives. “Thank you all so much for helping me out. The fire affected me more than I realized.” She was aware of Justin watching her, head tilted back, deep blue eyes narrowed with a certain skepticism. She couldn’t let him get to her. Couldn’t be distracted by wanting to convince him that she wasn’t up to no good. “I’ll grab my things and be on my way.”
/>   Before anyone could respond, she bolted into the mudroom and through the kitchen, not stopping until she was back in her room. She shut the door behind her, leaned against it and caught her breath. Her head was spinning. She couldn’t blame smoke inhalation. She wasn’t experiencing any aftereffects from her close call with the fire. Physically, she was fine.

  She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, trying to quiet her heart rate.

  Meeting Dylan had thrust her back to the difficult days when his father had taken her under his wing and then died believing she was a liar and a spy.

  Then there was Justin. Her taciturn rescuer.

  She gave an inward groan. She wasn’t practically gasping for air because she’d been in the company of a McCaffrey, or even because of her missing journal. It was Justin and his suspicious deep blue eyes, his hard jaw and abrupt manner. She wished Olivia’s father had been the one to rescue her. At least then she’d have been able to keep a clear head.

  She exhaled, standing up straight. “Damn.”

  Of all times not to let herself be swayed by a good-looking man, regardless of what he thought of her. She glanced around the sunlit room. If only she could stay here all day. Read. Take a hot bath. Look out at the view of the forest with its changing fall colors.

  Hide. Avoid.

  That wouldn’t help her situation any more than running away would.

  Dylan and Olivia seemed like decent people. Olivia’s sister was getting married here on Saturday.

  They didn’t need someone stirring up the past.

  Samantha stuffed her things into her backpack, made up the bed and scoured the bedroom and bathroom for anything she might have dropped—especially anything that could give away her history with Duncan McCaffrey. With a deep breath, she slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed downstairs.

  She would find her journal. Then she would figure out what was next. Once she was on her own, at least she’d be able to think.

  * * *

  Samantha expected to find Olivia in the kitchen and perhaps her friend Maggie, and hoped to say thank you, make her goodbyes and be on her way. Instead she found Justin there, alone, leaning against the sink, his powerful arms crossed on his chest as he watched her grind to a halt on the other side of the butcher-block island.